


Still Euphoria

by Orca (Orca2)



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 05:17:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10550702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orca2/pseuds/Orca
Summary: your veins thrum with pleasure. your tongue is coated with chemicals that coax overwhelming flavor into your swollen tastebuds. a screen is held before your eyes, showing you a reality that consists of everything you wish to be true. zaps excite your mind with every rapturous sensation known to man. every hour. of every day. for eternity.what more could you ask for?





	

My eyes ache. They should, but they don't. My mind screams, hushes, insisting that the sensation caused by the clamps holding my lids open is one of unimaginable comfort, and I comply. My resentment melts away.

_Yes, comfort. Comfort. Comfort. Comfort._

I wish to see my friend, so I do. Her hands are shaky, mouth hanging open and muscles slack. The rim around her iris is bloodshot. I assume that I appear to be similarly disheveled, as her face warps in disgust, just as mine does. The image fades and shifts until I no longer have to stare at her ugly features, and presents me with what I remembered my friend to be.

She was much prettier than I when we still lived in the Non-Virtual world, so my mind makes sure to alter her appearance to insure that she would not be superior to me in that regard. Her mind was probably doing the same.

"You look gorgeous," she gushes, clasping her hands together. The software is a bit late, her expression still one of contempt as the words leave her mouth, and I can tell she didn't actually want to say that.

The background fills with disjointed fond memories, as I've quickly began to grow bored. They're iridescent, and ripple in the distance. My attention span dissolves and I almost don't notice the wave of satisfaction that racks through me in response to the compliment.

She is no longer wearing the bland hospital garb and pasty skin, and is now fitted with her old flowing skirt and flower blouse, my favorite one to look at. "Of course," I say, though I've forgotten why, and I really doubt she will hear me.

My friend, always being the type to herd men like cattle, is probably conjuring obscene images in her mind to keep herself from growing bored; as she left her virtual self on autopilot to speak with me. My temperature flares with anger, and is quickly cooled by the machinery. My mind alters her appearance to look further insignificant to mine. _No no_ , my mind insists in the cooing voice of my mother, _she likes you, she's only interested in you, you are her whole world, only your wants matter and she knows it_.

As I hear the words her form slinks towards me to wrap me in a hug, which I do not return. She looks up at me and her eyes are hollow and gray. I know my friend is not in there, that this is a mere illusion.

The machinery quickly corrects the fluke, changing her expression to one of pure joy. _It is her_ , my mind hums; and I repeat: "Yes. It is her." And I am the only thing that matters to her. I am the only thing that matters to anyone. I am the only thing that matters.

My mind begins to test the possibility that this reality is not real, and my software goes haywire.

_It is real. It is real. It is real. It is real._

_You are the center of the universe._

My heart calms, and a smile drifts on my face from the gallons of opium being pumped through my veins. _This is real._

My friend is beginning to annoy me, so I wave her away and she disappears. My back is supported with pillows, my skin is covered in satin, the air is soft like a cloud, I am more comfortable than any human has ever been. Calming images, ones with soft shapes and balanced colors, fill my mind until I feel like a euphoric puddle of pudding.

And I could stay like that. Forever. And 'forever' is a very long time.

But what next?

 

I don't feel the need to do anything, truthfully. I already know that I am better than everyone. I know that everyone loves me. I am always eating and always fucking, constantly. Over and over, by every attractive person I could think of. And it always feels beyond rapturous, a sensation plucked from the depths of heaven.

But _what next_?

Fuck more. Eat more. Never age. Fuck again. Eat again. Fuck again. Eat again.

I have already done everything. I have already seen everything. I know all there is to know, all stored in a chip to not waste room for storing memories of fucking and eating.

I have no idea how old I must be by now. It's probably only been a month since I got hooked up, truthfully. The Whitemasks had told me that time would go much slower once I was under, that I could experience around 50 years in a day.

Even with this eternity of suspended animation, I could never lose my mind. The only sensation it knew was happiness, ecstasy, perfection. When I went under, I had wanted to run away from the harshness of reality; but now I don't understand my reasoning.

Reality is perfect. Nothing ever goes wrong. I get exactly what I want all the time, without hesitation. When I don't like something, it disappears.

I no longer need fear death, or rejection, or other's opinions of me, or pain. Because those things do not exist.

I can believe whatever I want, regardless of fact, and reality will change to fill this belief. I can act as selfish and awful as I wish, without consequences.

Well, sometimes I add consequences, to mix things up a little. It isn't fun unless there's a little drama and struggle from time to time. Because I always know how conflicts are going to turn out: in my favor. 

I consume. I exist. 

I can have children as many times as I wish, and wave them away once they are no longer new and exciting. I can alter their appearance to make them the cutest baby, to make sure they never age, to make them prodigies.

I can gather a crowd and have them praise me for my wonderful offspring. I can put myself in a dangerous situation just to have someone heroically rescue me. I can make people I resented from the Non-Virtual world cry and wail from torture, and laugh. I can make myself the most attractive person in existence and have everyone wish they were mine. 

And do those same things. Over and over and over.

I will continue to consume and exist until the stars die out.

 

I've reached the pinnacle. There is no further up to go from here. All resistance dissolves away beneath me. I, physically, could never ask for anything more. Because I already have everything.

So I can't help but wonder: Is this all there is?

The glimmering heaven gates, which we've watched from below with longing since the dawn of humanity. A perfect world. Without suffering. Without death. I've reached it, that impossible place.

I just thought it would be more... meaningful. 

 


End file.
